Not All Who Wander
by musewars
Summary: When a mission goes wrong the team find themselves stranded in the middle of nowhere, their chips disabled. Yet for one, the stakes become higher as he awakens with no idea of who he is. Warning: contains language
1. Chapter 1

Pain. It radiated from every part of his body. As his mind slowly returned from the foggy darkness, specifics came to focus. His head was throbbing. The rest of him wasn't doing much better. There was a thundering roar in his ears. He was soaking wet.

Cautiously he began to move fingers and toes. Successful, he then attempted to roll onto his back. His effort was foiled by a fit of gurgled coughs, expelling water from his lungs and leaving him still sprawled on his side. When the fit ended he opened his eyes, and was rewarded with sharp bright light. He blinked and his eyes adjusted.

_Well, that went well didn't it? _He frowned at the thought. All considered it shouldn't have seemed a strange one to have, except that something felt off. He had no real idea what he had meant by that statement. Confusion registered followed by an increasing sense of fear. What _had_ he meant?

He shook his head. _Come on now,_... he began to urge himself, yet his thoughts paused. Panic spread as he muddled through his mind. His name. He had been trying to think of his name. Nothing came. Hurriedly his mind raced, searching it's own recesses for any source of memory. Blank.

"Any sign of him?" The shout startled him out of his search. Someone else was here. He looked towards the sound and found nearly above him a rather towering waterfall surrounded by a tree-covered ledge. Had he fallen from there? It certainly explained his current condition.

"Nothing!" came a reply, this voice slightly softer than the first. Two people, both men it seemed even as the voices were distorted by the roaring water. Maybe they could help him. Gingerly he started to raise himself and opened his mouth to speak. "No way he survived that fall. Can't believe you shot a kid!"

His blood ran cold. Were they talking about him? They had to be; there was no one else around. He'd been shot? They'd shot him? Instinctually he began to move and search for a wound, yet stopped himself. They were looking for him and wanted him dead. So he stilled, closing his eyes and willing his body not to shiver from the freezing river water.

"Stop yacking and get down there already!"

"Alright, alright, I'm going..." He heard what seemed to be rocks and other debris falling from the ledge. Some of it pelted him yet still he remained motionless. His heart raced; what now? T_hink I'm dead. Just think I'm dead..._

Suddenly the noise stopped.

"No way," the closer voice yelled. "Too steep down here. I'll break my own neck. Kid's dead, or will be soon enough. No way he survived all that, 'specially without all the techno-crap in him anymore."

He resisted the urge to frown. Techno-crap, what did that mean?

A long pause followed. "Fine. Let's get out of here then. We've got work to do."

He relaxed yet waited even long after he heard the man climb back up the ledge. The silence lingered. He hated to think what he would, or even could, have done had that man actually come down. The more pressing question though was simple; what would he do now?

First things first, he decided; he needed to get out of the river. He rolled onto his back. Again his muscles protested, yet soon he was on his feet. His legs ached and shook, yet he could stand on them. He took a tentative step and instinctively began to favor his left leg.

He felt so exposed out in the open. He needed to move in case those guys decided to come back. He painstakingly made his way to the bank. Under a small grouping of branches which would provide some cover he sat, trying to gain a feel of his surroundings. All around were trees with no signs of stopping. Great.

Now what? He frowned. He had no idea. The only thing he did know for certain was there were guys out to kill him. Yet he didn't know who they were or what they looked like. He didn't even know why they wanted him dead.

He turned his attention to himself. Maybe that would give him some clues.

He was wearing a rather strange gray outfit with black and red trim. The pants and one arm were ripped. Had he not recently been wading in water it seemed likely they would also be blood stained. Tentatively he pulled back the frayed fabric and winced. His chest hurt too, like a dull ache. He placed a hand on his side then took a deep breath. Ugh. He wouldn't be surprised if a rib or two were broken.

Wait; there was something on the sleeve. He cranked his neck to look closer. An insignia, but for what? He stared at the strange design. No letters; no real help. A thought danced along the corners of his mind. _Davenport Industries._ What was that? Was his unusual attire some sort of uniform? He waited, yet his mind refused to yield any more.

That was it. No pockets, no wallet or ID. Great.

He was getting nowhere fast. He needed to find help. But which way to go? He glanced behind him towards the trees. The landscape looked uneven and thick. No way in his condition would he make it far. Plus, a small part in the back of his mind spoke up, he could disguise his movements easier if he followed the river. Still risky, yet his mind was settled. If it kept him off the bad guys' trail it would work for him.

Another thought crossed his mind; what if he was a bad guy? No, he wouldn't believe that. It didn't feel right. But now that wasn't important. Right now he needed to think on just how to get out of here.

Returning again to his feet, he made his way back to the water. The river was shallow. As he walked, his mind again searched the corners of itself for signs of... well, anything. He tried to think of just how he'd gotten here and why he was out in the middle of nowhere. Had he been camping? A school trip? No answers. So he began with simple things. What was his name? Nothing, not even a letter. His age? No clue. Well a tiny one; those two men had called him a kid. Something twisted inside.

"I'm not a kid," his voice growled. The sound made him pause. It was so eerily strange yet familiar all at once. And he was right; while it did sound young, it wasn't the voice of a child. Okay then.

The river became deeper and his steps more forced. He moved towards the river's edge, still willing himself forward. Not far enough yet. He needed to keep going. He tried to think of words, to see if he could associate them with something. Family? People, his mind responded. School? Training, came the reply, and a strange one at that. Okay then; home. Lab, his mind told him. He scolded. This amnesia thing sucked.

He continued to wobble and slide his way down the bank. Occasionally his foot slid the wrong way or landed in a small hole causing him to trip. Soon he began to fall and decided he had enough. Maybe walking in the river wasn't such a good idea.

At least his feet were still dry. It was perhaps one of the few perks of his getup. The boots on his feet were nice and sturdy.

A sudden chill came over him as he sat on the bank again. The sun had started to slip below the tree line. Well, if anything, at least he knew which way was west. Considering he had no real idea where he was going that knowledge did little good. Now what? He had no provisions. It would be dark soon, and cold, if the chill in the air now was any indication.

Leaves. That sounded right. People burrowed themselves in leaves to stay warm. Okay then. It was a plan at least. The process was slow and tedious, hampered by his growing exhaustion. Still he managed to collect a good pile before the sun was completely gone, placing it under a small grouping of bushes. It would have to work. It would work.

He wondered if anyone was worried about where he was, or if anyone was actually looking for him. Did anyone care? As he crawled down onto the leaf pile bitterness brewed. Who left a young person alone in the woods anyway? Where were his parents? Then a more somber question; did he even have parents? He curled tighter into a ball. It was going to be a long night.

He just hoped he survived it.


	2. Chapter 2

The dreams came at him in twisted and disjointed waves, random images flashing in his mind.

He was in a strange-looking room full of screens and machinery. He went to take a step forward only to smack into glass. He reached out his hands to discover he was actually standing in a large tube.

His mind shifted and he was in the woods. Smoke rose from ahead of him. He felt danger as he moved closer.

Someone was crying, not in the woods but... somewhere. It echoed all around him.

He blinked and his mind shifted again, back to the strange room. A tall man with dark hair stood near the middle, his back turned away as he leaned over a consol. Without looking up the man pointed towards a door. "Urgent mission alert. Get your gear..."

A loud bell sounded, and he was standing in a hallway. Someone handed him something. He looked down and found in his hands a small doll. Half of it's head was destroyed.

Another shift and he was in a new room. Beside him was another man, this one much younger than the first. This man - teenager - was looking at some sort of device in his hand. "Come on, work!" he was urging it.

He turned and saw a girl about the same age. She looked at the pair but said nothing, instead rolling her eyes and letting out a scoff. She turned away and was gone in a blur.

The crying returned, now intensified. He shook his head and was back in the woods. Danger.

His mind shifted again and he was back in the tube. The girl from before was now standing outside the glass, pounding on it. She glared at him, one hand on her hip. She was saying something - his name, he realized, yet couldn't make it out over the crying - urging him to wake up. He put his hands on the glass and yelled for her to say it again, but she was gone.

A gun appeared, the barrel pointed right at his face. "Well, hello there," a man's voice snarled. The feeling of danger gripped hold again and with it a rising fear. Anger brewed. He felt himself freeze and saw the gun flash. He screamed and opened his eyes.

His memories flared and died again as he shivered in the cold. With shaking hands he rubbed his face. It was still dark. He had tossed and turned for what felt like forever and finally given up on sleeping, sitting up so he leaned against the sturdiest branch of the brush. Only then did his body relent. Maybe it was the exhaustion finally taking over which had allowed him to sleep sitting up like that. Regardless, what sleep he had gotten hadn't been enough. He felt worse than the day before.

He crawled out from under his sleeping place. Looking out he could see the faintest light of the impending morning bouncing between the trees. It actually looked rather nice. He thought of trying again to sleep yet reconsidered. With the dark clothing he was wearing, now would be the best time to try and make progress. It would provide him some cover.

_Early bird gets the worm._ He shook his head, allowing himself the faintest of a smile. Of all things for his mind to actually remember, why'd it have to be a cliché?

He pulled himself to his feet, wincing at the pull on his ribs as he moved. His legs and arms ached as well. He wiped his hands on his pants. Unfortunately his head had now joined the party. Gingerly he rubbed the back of his head and found it to be tender to the touch. Near his temple he felt a gash running along the side of his face. He wondered if it came from the fall. His thoughts returned to the two men from the day before. Maybe he really had been shot, but just not seriously?

More questions without answers.

He made his way back to the river. His muscles protested yet they'd loosen up soon enough... he hoped. He bent at the edge and splashed water on his face. The cold water caused him to gasp. _Get it over with. _

His progress was agonizingly slow. As he waded down the river his thoughts returned to the images from his dream. He wondered if any of it was real. Who were the people he had seen? Did he know them? If so, how? The first man; well he had no particular thoughts one way or another about him. What the man had said was strange though. The two younger people had been wearing clothing similar to his. Did they work together? Maybe they were out here somewhere.

Maybe they were the ones trying to kill him.

No, that couldn't be right. They'd been young like he was. Well, _maybe _was. He had no clue how old he was, actually. For that matter he didn't even have an idea on what he even looked like. He brushed back the thought before it brought more. No use focusing on that... and yet...

Enough of that. He steered his mind back to the people from his dream, the ones in the uniform. There had been one guy and one girl. It had been two men out to kill him... right? He frowned, trying to focus and recall the voices. They had been so distorted due to the roaring of the waterfall... and one had been rather faint... and more high-pitched than the first... maybe...

His foot slipped into another hole which sent him sprawling. He landed face-first into the water and let out a frustrated string of curses. Great; now he couldn't even trust what little memory he did have. He really was a mess. The water splashed into him mercilessly. Too tired to give much fight he let it while catching his breath.

_Come on, you've had training worse than this. Get up!_ Hang on; training? That felt right. Maybe he was a soldier? Did that make sense? But in his dream he'd been in school. High school, his mind offered. Okay then, but what kid in high school was a soldier? He waited yet again nothing more came. He let out another frustrated groan.

_Get! Up!_ Digging his hands into the bottom of the river he struggled to stand. His right leg nearly buckled, yet still he rose to his feet. One thing was certain; if someone were to come after him, he stood no chance to outrun them. All the more reason to keep going.

He had only taken a few steps before he fell again. Another string of curses escaped his mouth, these louder than the first. Hopeless. His fists smacked against the bottom of the river then recoiled as he hit rock. His breath hitched.

_Come on. You're better than this!_ The voice from the back of his mind yelled to him as he rubbed his now-sore knuckles. _But am I really,_ he challenged back. Again he rose to his feet, the frustration inside him rising as well. _Tell me!,_ he screamed in his head, for what felt like the millionth time searching through his brain for an answer.

"Who am I?" he called out loud. His voice echoed into the surrounding trees.

There came no answer.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun was beginning to sink below the tree line again when the first drops of rain hit him. _Great._ Probably best he find somewhere to call it a night. The sooner he did so the earlier a start he could get in the morning. He stopped and looked around. A few feet from where he stood was an incline covered with various foliage and shrubs. It was as good a place as any.

He pulled himself slowly up the bank, taking care to step where he could better mask his footprints. Eventually near the top he came across a fallen log half-hidden in brush. Perfect. He sat a minute, catching his breath. His right leg was completely stiff; he grabbed hold of it and swung it over the log followed by his left. He then sank down so he was covered by the brush. Definitely better; while rain still occasionally made its way through he would be drier here.

He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. His head was miserable; his legs too. He pulled up the tattered remains of his pants and stared at his legs. They were a mess of bruises, scrapes and cuts. None seemed terribly serious yet taken together certainly explained why his legs hurt. His arms, too, were cut up and bruised. He couldn't stop his mind from wondering just what would happen if he didn't reach civilization and got treatment for his injuries. How much longer could he hold up like this?

_As long as it takes_, that voice in the back of his head asserted.

He leaned his back against the log again. His eyes closed. The pattering of the rain was strangely soothing. He was nearly asleep when he heard something above the rain. Voices, he realized, from behind him. Someone was coming. He scrambled to turn so he could see the bank, at the same time bending lower so he was covered more completely. Part of him hesitated. Maybe whoever was coming could help him. Another, stronger part of him said to stay where he was. It could be _them_.

He lifted his head as the voices grew louder just high enough to peek over the log. Branches and leaves blocked most of his view, yet in one of the small areas within his sight stepped a figure. It was a young lady with light brown hair. Something about her struck him as familiar yet he didn't recognize her. He resisted the urge to chuckle. He could have seen his own family at that moment and not recognize them. Then he realized it; she was the girl from his dreams. So she was real. She was even wearing the same outfit, the one which seemed to match his own.

The young lady glanced around as she walked, pausing to look back further up the bank. "See anything?" she called.

He couldn't see who she was talking to with the branches between him and the bank, but he heard a muffled male voice call back, "No. You?"

"No," the girl said. She frowned and looked around again. "Maybe he didn't come this far. Why is he still going downstream?"

This time he didn't catch the response. He held his breath as he watched her walk around the bank. While he knew – or at least suspected – she and her companion were looking for him, he could only guess for what purpose. Dread began to rise again and something else. Not fear but... anger maybe. He had no idea what was going on, or any clue on loyalties. The last thing he wanted to do was take a chance and be wrong. He hated this feeling. It was like being dropped into someone else's life, with him having to clean up the mess they had left behind.

After what felt like much too long the pair moved on, walking upstream. He turned around so he was on his back. The rain grew heavier. He closed his eyes again.

The images came at him much quicker than before. They swayed and shifted, like film being rewound or skipped as someone searched out particular scenes from it.

He was back in the woods, this time in a clearing. All around him was debris. A plane. He was near a plane, one mangled and burning. Before him appeared two men, their backs turned away from him.

The woods morphed away. The strange room. Another, darker room with a cage. A cage?

The faintest of sounds begin. Crying; but who? It turned to laughter, coming from a computer screen with a face. It was mocking him.

"Go away!" he yelled, but it only laughed more.

Back to the clearing and the plane. Someone was in the wreckage, lying much too still. He could see light hair but the face was out of focus. He heard voices.

The school, but this time a stage. People pointing and laughing. Back to the cage. A man with spiky hair stood outside of it.

Yet again he was in the clearing. Danger. The two men turned to him and he saw they weren't men at all. It was the young man and woman from before. The girl pulled a gun and pointed it at him. He stepped backwards, his hands raised and the world spun, faster and faster, into darkness and nothing…

He startled and opened his eyes. How long had he been asleep? Sitting up he found the faintest of sunlight shinning through the trees. The rain had stopped. That was a relief at least.

He uncurled himself with a muffled groan. His body was definitely not appreciating this treatment. Of course, he couldn't disagree. He sat up and settled back on the log. He wasn't particularly anxious to get back to the river, especially if those two people were following him. Inwardly he shuddered, his mind attempting to put what he had seen together as questions filled his mind. Was that what had happened? If so why was he had a plane crash site? Who was the other man? The person with light hair in the wreckage?

Maybe he should reconsider his current strategy and come up with a new one to getting out of this… mountain, his mind offered. He was in the mountains. He frowned.

_Stupid brain. Much help as always._ Ugh. It was the truth though. He still knew nothing of real importance about himself. The vast depths of his mind had given up some tidbits; something about a plane crash, the name Davenport Industries, some sort of training, the fact that he was in the mountains. All of this, however, did not amount to anything substantial. Yet even then there was comfort in the information his brain did surrender. It was in there. He still had his memories. He just for reasons unknown couldn't access them.

Rubbing the remaining sleep from his eyes he stood. The people from yesterday had gone in the opposite direction he was moving. Plus, if his already aching limbs were any indication, he was in no real condition for any sort of real hiking. The river it was he decided.

Every step was near agony. As he reached the bank again a familiar thought crossed his mind. Longingly he glanced at the water. What was that disease one got from drinking contaminated water? Which was worse, getting sick or dying of thirst? Then again considering what animals had possibly been doing upstream…

He sighed, decided he wasn't all that thirsty, and limped back into the water.

For hours he kept moving, willing his feet to just go forward. As he slipped and ended up sprawled in the river for what felt like the millionth time, the dejection increased. He was making no real progress. He was hungry, thirsty and completely exhausted. The river had gotten deeper; now the water came above his knees and was moving much quicker than it had when he had started.

He took a deep breath, ignoring the dull ache in his side, and returned to his feet. Still he didn't move. The water rushed all around him. He pushed his sopping hair from his brow and again took in his surroundings. A rather large rock sticking out from the river's middle ahead caught his eye. _Make it there_, he told himself. _Then you can rest. Now come on!_

The rocky ground provided his feet hardly any traction now which meant no real chance to make sure steps. Still he went, hardly noticing the water growing deeper. He took another step when the riverbed suddenly slopped even deeper. He flared about and yet the current was too strong, pulling him under just as his eye caught something up ahead. There was a sudden edge to the water, and a fierce noise he instantly recognized just as he fell below the surface.

He was headed straight for another waterfall.


	4. Chapter 4

_Do something!_

His head found the surface just as his lungs felt ready to burst. He gasped, taking in the much-needed air before being submerged again. The churning water pulled and twisted him along. The burn in his lungs returned as they demanded air.

_Move!_ He flared and kicked wildly, finally returning to the surface for a moment. _No time!_ Even under water the roaring was getting closer. The prospect of facing what would be his second waterfall in three days was nerve-wracking. He didn't like the odds. The current was strong, pounding into him, yet he was stronger. He had to be; needed to be. _Move it!_ _Go!_ As his face reached the surface again he sighted the shore and made for it. _Fight!_ His effort finally paid off as his feet gained traction and he managed to stand.

Still he didn't rest; that would just be stupid. He floundered towards the bank. His body began coughing in a painful attempt to get rid of any lingering water. His hands went to wipe his face and he was rewarded with a mixture of grit and water being spread across it, which in turn increased his frenzied movements. He reached the shore and collapsed, letting out a frustrated growl.

Yeah, walking in the river had been _such_ a brilliant idea. _Great job, genius._

His chest heaved. He couldn't do this anymore. He rolled onto his side, resigning himself to the absolute pain and fear clinching his chest. Yet he didn't cry. He couldn't bring himself to do so. He was just so _angry, _so unbelievably angry. He needed to calm down, to breathe...

Something moved within the corner of his sight. He sat up to see better, his breath still hitched. Up the bank he saw the girl from yesterday moving his way. Behind her came a young man, the same one from his dream. He must have been the one from the day before with her. Again a sense of familiarity came over him even as he still couldn't place it. So they hadn't gone upstream, or at least hadn't stayed headed that direction after all. They'd caught up to him. Well, anyone could have caught up to him as it was but still...

They were still quite far away. He had time. He looked around, seeking a place to hide. The bank here sloped like before yet there was little brush. Maybe if he went downstream? The ledge from the waterfall wasn't nearly as large as the previous one. Maybe... Too late; he heard a shout and turned to see the girl was now running towards him with the young man close behind. They had seen him. The threatening sense of danger rose in him again. He needed to get out of here. Now.

Scrambling to his feet he made for the sloping bank. He was too tired; his legs gave out and he tumbled back, collapsing to his knees. He tried again yet his legs continued to rebel.

He turned and made for the ledge. He'd take his chances. He heard the girl shout again but couldn't hear what she was saying. That was good; he could still get away. Again his muscles protested yet he forced them, albeit reluctantly, to go along. His legs and arms shook as he climbed. The ledge wasn't as steep as the first one had seemed. Still he should go slow, take his time, be careful. Forget that.

He placed his right leg on a small piece of rock. Stupid move. It gave way, and he lost his grip. The rocky terrain grated as his body slide down it. Somehow he managed to regain his hold. No time to waste. No time to stop. Within moments he again fell, and again regained some control. By the fourth time he didn't care and went tumbling to the bottom, landing in a heap.

He heard shouts again, echoing from the top of the ledge. They were getting closer. _Get up!_ His body protested this time with more intensity. His legs throbbed but still took his weight. Nothing broken, yet there'd be no making a run for it now. Instinctually he made for the river. Any way he went would be useless but maybe if he went with the current- tried to swim - maybe he stood a chance. Reaching the water he jumped for the middle. His head slipped under the water. It was deeper, reaching his chest, and the current was fairly fast. He could do this...

"Chase!"

The voice was louder when he broke the water surface. He risked halting a split second to look back towards it and found the young man had reached the bottom of the ledge. Where was the other one? Where was the girl? Forget it... no time... He turned away and madly began flaring his arms and legs, ignoring the pain as he did.

"Chase, wait!"

Behind him he heard a splash. It stirred him to struggle harder. His feet hit the bottom and he attempted to run, slipping and sliding on the rocky ground. The water was getting faster and deeper in each moment. It was harder to move. Again he tried to swim, floundering best he could.

"Chase!"

They were closing in on him now. No matter how much effort he continued to give he couldn't seem to move fast enough. Panic set in as he heard more splashes, these closer. Then his foot found another slope sending him slipping below the surface with a strangled yelp. His feet couldn't find the ground again. He was just determined to drown, wasn't he? Suddenly strong hands gripped hold and pulled, dragging him upwards.

"No!" he pleaded once he had broken the surface. "Let me go!"

The man ignorned his protests and pulled him back towards the bank. Again he felt the anger within him rise. Do or die time. He pulled and twisted, attempting to get out of the young man's grasp. His feet kicked and hit something soft. The young man let out a started cry and his grip loosened. Taking the opportunity, he turned and swung his fist. The punch landed right on target, smacking into the man's face.

"Chase, what the-" he thought he heard, these words coming from the shore. Without the young man's hold he slipped below the surface again. He had no time to move before he was being grabbed and dragged back. The grip on him this time was stronger. As much as he tried to struggle it seemed no match. He wanted to run but all the strength he had left now seemed spent. He was set on the bank.

"What's wrong with you?" It was the young lady speaking now. She came jogging over and immediately slapped him across the arm. He flinched, a whole range of emotions crossing his brain. He glared at her.

"Hey!"

She ignored his protests. Her attention turned to her companion. "Adam, are you okay?"

The young man - Adam- nodded, a hand still rubbing his face gently. He couldn't resist a smirk, although he didn't know why. "I'm fine, Bree."

He kicked at the ground trying to push himself away. His gaze went between the two repeatedly. Neither was reaching for any sort of weapon... yet... He felt the blood rushing to his head and his heart pounding. He couldn't seem to calm down.

"Why'd you punch him? He was trying to-"

"Get away from me!"

She - Bree- actually blinked. "Chase, what's-?"

"Don't touch me!"

"Chase, why-"

Chase. It suddenly occurred to him. That must be his name. Any relief at finally learning that piece of information was hindered by the ever-pressing danger engulfing him. Something wasn't right. He was fading; he could feel it. Even so he looked between them, his feet still clambering along the ground. "Stay away from me..."

"Calm down," Bree now bent over him. Adam, seemingly satisfied with the examination he had done of his face's damage - or really, lack of it - joined them. Again he looked between them. They swayed slightly, yet an idea suddenly took hold. _That's it, move closer._

"Please." He pleaded. _Just a little closer, come on._ "Please... don't kill me..."

The pair shared a look before Bree grabbed his arm. "It's alright. You're-"

_Now!_ As quickly as he could he turned his body and kicked with both legs. Adam let out a cry and fell back as he made contact. Climbing to his feet he turned to run yet felt someone grab him. Bree was trying to pull him back to the ground. He grabbed her hands, swatting at them yet she was quicker. Even so he managed to grab hold of one and twist it hard. She screamed and recoiled, buying him enough time to scramble from her grasp.

His vision swirled and black spots danced before his eyes. Still he ran. He managed only a few steps before he was tackled back to the ground. He tried again to move yet he was pinned.

"Let me go!"

"Chase, what's wrong with you?" Adam was sitting on him now and had hold of his arms, holding them down.

"What do you want with me? Who are you? Why are you following me?"

"What do you mean?" Bree was now standing over him, cradling her arm. Things were getting fuzzy. "Of course we would follow you. We were worried!"

Worried? Everything were spinning. "But then-" He got nothing more out before he slipped into darkness again.


	5. Chapter 5

He wasn't dreaming; not really. What came at him was just a streaming blur. The burned doll's face... Shaking it towards someone... The color red... The woods and a gun pointed at him... A gym, and a group of people laughing and pointing... Anger... The cage, the man with spiky hair standing outside the lighted bars... Crying, echoing in his head... The plane, and the figure lying on the ground... It was a young man, he saw now, wearing...

"...Can you hear me?"

He opened his eyes and growled before closing them again. _No._ He tried in vain to will his brain to give him something, anything at all, to piece together what he had just seen. It didn't comply.

He stretched his limbs and rolled to his side. He was near a small campfire. It was dark. His boots were gone. How'd he get here? His mind returned to focus and he recalled what had happened. The waterfall. The two people who had found him. And something else...

His name. "Chase," he whispered. "My name is Chase." He turned it over in his head, almost as if trying to convince himself of the fact. The name felt foreign and strange even as he said it. Nothing clicked. He wondered why that was and frowned.

"Hello?" The voice spoke again. He turned his head towards the sound. It was the young lady, who stood on the other side of the fire a few feet away. Bree, his mind reminded him; her name was Bree, and her companion was Adam. In her hand was a small device. She was speaking into one piece, while another she kept near her ear. It was a communication device of some sort, he realized. He watched, keeping still. "Mr. Davenport, can you hear me? Hello?"

Mr. Davenport? _Donald Davenport, of Davenport Industries._ He scowled. Why did his mind give him that? Why only pieces? Why, at that, only ones which did no real good? Whatever; there were more pressing matters at hand. His eyes scanned the area. No sign of Adam anywhere. It was just him and Bree. They hadn't tied him up. Maybe if he waited until her back was turned...

"Any luck?" He resisted the urge to curse as Adam appeared in view, carrying a small bundle of wood. There went that plan.

Bree shook her head. "Not yet. How's your face?"

Adam shrugged. Even in the dim light the bruising taking over the young man's face was visible. Maybe he'd done more damage than originally thought. "I'll be fine. You?"

"Fine."

"Let me see." Bree hesitated yet offered her hand. It was wrapped in a sort of makeshift bandaging. _A point of weakness_, his mind noted. She winced slightly at the touch, making Adam frown. "Breezy-"

"I'm fine, Adam."

"How's Chasey?"

Something inside prickled at the name. He closed his eyes and shifted slightly, feigning sleep. Even with his eyes closed he could feel their eyes on him. He evened his breathing.

"You know it's annoying when you call us those stupid names." Bree's voice lowered. "I don't know. He hasn't woken up yet."

"He'll be okay."

"He's in pretty bad shape-"

"Well for going over a waterfall-"

"I know. But-" her voice broke. "He doesn't know who we are, Adam. You saw the look in his eyes. He was terrified of us. Our own brother and he-"

It took everything within him not to jump up from the pure shock of what he had just heard. Brother? They were his siblings? Impossible. He'd have known, would have recognized… Something would have clicked… He felt the frustrated anger boil in his gut again.

The voices died down after that. Still he remained motionless. He dared to open one eye slightly. Their backs were turned from him, still lost in conversation. If he moved now... Staying as quiet as possible he rolled over and began to sit up.

"Oh mornin'." He cursed in spite of himself as Adam's words came. "Feeling any better little buddy?"

"Who are you calling little?" He spat. Probably not the best move all considered. "And I'm not your buddy."

"Sure you are." A rather goofy grin crossed Adam's features. "Our embarrassingly teeny-tiny-"

"Oh fuck yourself!" The smile on Adam's face faded and Bree's mouth dropped open. As he managed to climb to his knees he felt the slightest pang of guilt come over him even as he didn't know why. _Stupid move,_ his mind told him. He was the vulnerable one in this situation, and they the ones with all the control. Yet he still struggled to make it to his feet.

"Oh no you don't" He jumped as he felt hands grabbing him. It was Bree. She took hold of his shoulders and pushed him down again.

The panic set in. He recoiled, his hands going for her bandaged one. "Don't touch me!"

"Easy! Chase, settle down!" Her grip tightened. "We're not going to hurt you. Sit down."

He felt a tightening in his chest. Still he complied. It seemed to satisfy Bree and she let him go again. She moved to the other side of the fire again then returned, holding something. She held it out for him. "Here,"

He merely stared at her. She sighed. "It's only water." Still he didn't move. "Fine. Suit yourself. Adam, keep trying."

Adam nodded and began talking into the device. Bree set down the bottle. Silence between them followed. That was fine with him. Still he looked away, first to the fire then towards the sky. Above him various clusters of stars shined; he hadn't noticed them before, or how clear they looked. One in particular caught his eye. _Gemini, _his mind informed him. He scoffed. Trust his mind to find that one at a time like this.

The whole time he could feel Bree's eyes following him.

"What's your problem?" he finally snapped out, looking at her again.

"What's yours?" she snapped back, then let out a sigh. Her hands rung together and for a moment he thought she may just slap him. Instead she tossed the bottle. "Just take it already."

He should toss it back, just throw it right into her face. Instead he picked up the bottle. As he went to open it his eye caught sight of a bandage wrapped around his wrist. He looked to his legs and lifted the frayed remains of his pants. He found bandages there too, covering what seemed to be the worst of the lacerations. He looked towards Bree. "You?"

"Yeah." She allowed a small chuckle. "Took just about every supply we got in the medical kit, but yeah."

He should thank her, show gratefulness. Instead all that came out was, "Why?"

"Because you're-" She hesitated. She looked offended by his question. '_He doesn't know who we are, Adam…_' He swallowed as her words echoed in his head. _'Our own brother…'_ Was that the truth? Did he really have a sister and brother? Adam, Bree, and Chase. He snorted. How _precious_. Still, they had been in his dream. He'd seen them, and now here they were in front of him….They were all wearing the same clothes... They'd pulled him from the river...

His mind flashed to the sight of her holding the gun, firing it…

He curled himself into a ball, looking away from her. Not wanting to see her eyes. "Chase, what happened to you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Really?"

"You calling me a liar?" He couldn't help the animosity, even now.

"No! It's just-" she sighed again. "What do you remember?"

He stayed silent. She swallowed. "You have no idea how worried we were. We couldn't find you. You were gone for hours. Then we went to the site and found the blood and bullets and we thought-" she cleared her throat. "Adam insisted we follow the river, thought you must be in trouble and well, here we are. Which reminds me." She reached into a small pouch within her belt and produced another small device. She handed it to him. "This is yours."

He took it and looked it over. The device looked like a small pen with various buttons along one side. _Mission recorder, _his mind told him. He gripped it tighter, his anger rising again. _Damn it, brain! Stop with the stupid small things!_ He should probably say thank you yet again all that came out was, "Am I a prisoner or something?"

"No," Bree replied, a slight scoff to her voice.

"Then let me go."

"No can do, bu- Chase," Adam called before returning his attention back to the com.

"Why not?"

"First, where would you go?" she replied. "And second, we took your boots."

"Why?"

"Considering you're threatening to run, doesn't seem so stupid an idea does it?"

They had a point.

"And we put them where you won't find them." Adam added.

He rolled his eyes. "They're by the fire drying, aren't they."

Adam paused. "You still can't have them."

He glared, again probably not the best of moves yet again he didn't care. Bree replied by slapping him hard across the arm.

"Hey!" He grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. Bree let out a small whimper. Adam stood and took a step towards them, yet she shook her head at him. "Cool it, princess!"

She pulled away only a moment and rubbed her hand. Silence followed again. "It wouldn't kill you to trust us, you know."

"Just might," he muttered. As soon as the words escaped his mouth he regretted them. At once Bree's expression changed.

"What does that mean?" Her face became stern. "Chase, what happened?" She took hold of his shoulder, forcing him to look her in the eyes. He found the most sincere look of concern reflected back to him. "Chase- tell us. Was someone trying to kill you?"

He pulled away from her grasp. He didn't like this, didn't like how out of control the situation was. How out of control he was. His mind began to go into overdrive again. These could be the very people out to kill him… It could all be a ruse... Lying to gain his trust… Seeing what he knew before they killed him…

_'Our own brother_… ' She hadn't said that when they knew he was listening. Right? It had just been a sister talking to her brother about their sibling. A sibling who had been missing. _'We saw the blood… we thought…' _

_They thought I was dead_, his mind finished her unspoken thought. He wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his chin on his knees, watching the fire. She tried to pull him back, to look at her, yet he recoiled.

"We're not going to hurt you, Chase," she said quietly.

He wanted to believe that. She had been so forthcoming, so sincere, he almost _did _believe her. Yet something was stopping him. It was telling him that no matter how it seemed, something was still wrong.

He just didn't know.


	6. Chapter 6

"Where are you going?"

He stopped mid-step. "Thought you said I wasn't a prisoner."

Bree blinked. "That's right."

"Well then, I'm going to take a leak." He turned to look behind him; glare was more like it. "If that's alright with you."

Even he was surprised by the gravel tone his voice had taken in that moment. Not that he would let them know that. Bree appeared hurt, yet Adam raised an eyebrow before letting out a laugh. He actually looked, well, somewhat impressed by the retort. Bree turned her glare towards the dark haired boy and huffed. "Whatever."

He turned and limped away from the camp. He took his time. It wasn't as if he were in a giant hurry to get back. The truth was he just needed a minute - well more than that, actually - alone to think.

He waited, yet heard nothing. No footprints. No voices, save those in the distance. No one was following him, no one watching or coming to see what was taking him so long.

_They trust you._

His stomach churned from the thought. How easy it would be to run now, to escape. They'd never know at least not a little while. He could do it. Except for once, he wasn't sure that was the best course of action. He hated feeling so helpless, so out of control. Yet these two, they had done nothing but treated him well. They'd pulled him from the river. They'd treated his injuries. They'd provided him with water, with food...

With safety.

_'Our own brother...'_ He closed his eyes and sighed, trying to focus his mind again. Trying to retrieve the images he had seen the last few days. How conflicted they were. What was real and what had his mind made up? Could he even trust what he'd seen? Sure these two were real but were the other people? What about the rest of it?

There was one way to find out, one which awaited him a few yards away. Even as he began to stumble back his mind protested. Still he made his way back to the camp. Bree had now joined Adam; both were hunched over the com device.

'_Our own brother...' _At first glance they didn't look much alike yet as he watched he began to notice some similarities. He swallowed, and suddenly spoke before he could stop himself. "So we're siblings huh."

There was no mistaking the hope on their faces as they looked at him. It almost made him wish he hadn't said it. Quickly he added, "I... overheard you talking earlier..."

Their faces fell again. A sense of guilt washed over him. He looked to the ground and his eyes fell on the com. He felt the familiar click in his head as something came to place.

"Some of the wires are crossed," he informed them.

He motioned, silently asking for the com. Adam handed it over. He opened the back and looked over the various wires inside. He felt his insides burn and looked up to see them both still watching. "What?"

"Nothing," they both said almost in unison. He frowned. It wasn't nothing. He could see that across their faces. He turned his attention back to the wires. His hands worked confidently even as conscencely he had no real idea what he was doing, all the while trying to keep the boiling in his gut within check. Being angry would do no good. He needed to stay calm, just in case...

Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned to glance at it. The bright orange box, smashed and dirty, stood out among the darkness. He stared at it. His mind sparked.

_"Hey!"_

_Red. He was standing in a clearing in the woods, his hands balled tightly into fists as he looked away from the bright orange box still lodged within the wreckage. He found a man standing only a few feet away, gun in hand. "What do you want?"_

_"Could ask you the same thing kid."_

_He heard the gun click as the man raised it. Even then he didn't think to run but rather to charge, to ram into him and knock the gun away..._

"...ase?"

He blinked. The memory faded as he did. He tried to follow it, to see more yet it was gone, having retreated back to it's hiding place. It hadn't been much yet at the same time... Even so his focus returned back to the object in his hands. They were still looking at him.

"So what's with the getup?" he asked. A quite nasty little quirp danced in his head yet he kept it to himself.

"Mission suits," Adam chirped.

So there was training. A strange sort of assurance came over him knowing his mind at least wasn't fully playing tricks on him. It was followed by something else as he again look at them. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen," Bree replied.

"And him?"

"Eighteen. You're sixteen."

He cursed under his breath. They really were kids. Why on earth were they being sent on missions? What insane person did something like that?

"It's not like that," Bree added quickly as if sensing his thoughts. "We're, well, not like most kids. We can handle ourselves usually."

What did that mean? A voice returned from his memories. "All that techo-crap…"

"What?"

"Nothing, just… forget it." His thoughts continued to swirl. It still didn't make sense yet he didn't want to press. Questions filled in his head. So many questions...

Done. He held the device out to them. It was Bree who took it from him, seemingly hesitant even as she muttered a thanks. He shrugged. The com roared and sputtered, a sound much more pronounced than before. He smiled in spite of himself. Maybe his tinkering had worked, after all.

"What was the mission?"

"One of Davenport's drones went off course," Bree replied. "It was set to crash on a pipe line here in the area. We were sent to stop it, or at least repair the damage. But something went wrong."

"They knew we were coming," Adam added. "Disabled our-"

"It was a trap," Brew continued, casting him a glance. "We aborted the mission and lost communication with Davenport at base. Made for the rondevu point. Adam didn't make it at first-"

"Got lost-"

"-and you went to find him. He came back, you didn't. After awhile we headed out to find you. Made it back to the crash site and… well you know the rest."

Except he didn't. Or maybe he did, if only somewhat. He frowned and stared back at the fire. What they were telling him fit what he had seen time and time again.

"What happened to you, Chase?"

He couldn't resist the scowl which came. "I don't know. I-" Dare he continue? "I just woke up in a river. Everything else is- gone."

Not the truth yet it would have to satisfy them for now. He looked towards the fire again. They'd been so forthcoming and yet his gut still churned. The com sputtered and died again, even as Adam took over and began speaking in it. Maybe he hadn't been such a big help after all.

"It'll be okay." He looked to find Bree staring at the fire as well. Was she saying it to him or to himself? He didn't know. She bit her lip. "We'll figure this out. We'll get back to the lab and everything will be okay."

The lab? Something tugged at the corner of his mind. "Under the house."

"That's right." Her face brightened.

"We live there-" He frowned again. "What am I, some sort of science experiment?"

He would be blind not to notice her hesitation. "No, course not."

He should have pressed, yet something told him not to in that moment. So many questions, yet one pressed above the rest. "Who am I?"

Neither of them spoke at first. He didn't know how to take that reaction.

"You're our little brother," Adam offered. He resisted the urge to snap something back. He knew that already. Instead he waited.

This time it was Bree who spoke. Her words came out quickly, almost slurred. "You're Chase Davenport. Your birthday is March 10. You go to school at Mission Creek High. You live at home with me and Adam and our dad and our step mom Tasha and our brother - her son - Leo." She took a breath. "You're on the chess team and Latin club and just about every other nerdy club you can imagine. You're annoyingly smart and know it. You're a perfectionist. You're also a huge nerd. You'd rather save your money than spend a penny of it, and you don't ever want to miss a day of school and genuinely just want to please everybody and be perfect all the time." She sighed. "But you can also be really nice and sweet and are a good leader."

He frowned listening to her continue to ramble. Occasionally Adam would chime in with something. It was strange hearing someone else talk about this person - Chase Davenport- and knowing she was talking about him. Yet it didn't feel right. It felt like a stranger, like someone else. It might as well have been for that matter. It was hard to put into words, because even he himself didn't know what he was feeling. He just was.

He bit his lip as they finished, a new realization crossing his mind. "So Mr. Davenport, he's your-"

"Dad. Yeah."

"But if he's your dad, then why do you call him Mr. Davenport?"

They exchanged a look. Finally Adam shrugged. "We just always have."

He frowned. "Is he the one who sends you on missions?"

"Us," Brew corrected. "And yes."

"And what does your mom think about this?"

"Tasha's pretty cool about it."

"That's not what I meant."

Silence befell the camp. Finally, very faintly, Adam responded. "She's dead."

He felt something sting his insides. He's struck a nerve. Something told him it wasn't a topic to be discussed, something which never was discussed. Not taboo, but just painful. And unknown. For once he felt his cheeks burn and he looked away. "Sorry."

Adam looked towards the fire. "You didn't know."

"But-"

"Better get some sleep." Adam stood. "Long day tomorrow."

He nodded yet didn't move. He looked up to find Bree once again watching him. "What?"

"Nothing, just-" she offered nothing more. He didn't have to ask. It was written all over her face and Adam's. This wasn't how he normally acted around them. He got the feeling it worried them seeing him like this, but he had nothing to offer. He didn't know what they wanted from him, how to behave, what to say. He didn't feel like putting forth the effort, either.

He wrapped his arms around his knees. The fire was beginning to fade. The light bounced and swayed. He watched it silently. His thoughts too for once were silent. Perhaps his mind was tired too.

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he heard the noise. At first he thought it was the fire until he heard emerge a voice. A male voice, faint yet distinctive as it came over the com. He didn't move yet the other two did as it came again.

"... Bree? Adam, Chase, can you hear me...?"


	7. Chapter 7

He was in the cage again. The lighted bars casted an eerie glow around him. Through them appeared the man with the spiky hair. A name danced in his head… something with a D… yet it refused to come forward. The man gave him a smile and stepped back, shifting… was smaller somehow…

The crying returned, faint at first then growing as it echoed.

His mind flashed and he was back at the crash site, back at the plane. No not a plane, or at least not one which held passengers he saw now. Except someone was lying there. He saw it was a young man again. Everything blurred and he saw red, the color taking over his vision...

He jerked and was awake. Damn dreams. A strange hum filled his ears and he jerked again. Then his mind cleared and he remembered where he was now. A plane, more specifically one of Donald Davenport's private ones. The faintest of light danced through the small windows around him. It was almost night again. Bree and Adam were still in their own seats, both sleeping. In the light he could see Adam's face was now puffy, the skin having turned various colors. Even in sleep Bree cradled her arm, setting it across her chest. He imagined he didn't look much better. They had all pretty much crashed the moment they sat down in the plane, hours after the first contact with Mr. Davenport had reached them.

Or at least he had been attempting to sleep. He couldn't shake the feeling in his gut, the one which told him something was still wrong about it all. He was missing something. It was important. Yet as much as he tried, his mind wouldn't tell him just what. He rubbed his face and let out a shaking breath, attempting to calm his nerves.

"…Yes, I know it's… Well, we have a bit of a situation going on here and it's taken a precedence over that…"

He pressed his forehead against the window glass, relishing in its coolness. It provided some relief from the growing headache he had at the moment. The man speaking – Mr. Davenport - was attempting to keep his voice low yet in the small space of the plane it echoed. He didn't know who the older man was talking to, or even about, but he had a sinking suspicion growing in his gut about it. Something told him he ought to know.

"… Look, once we're back in the lab we'll make a plan on what to do next and move from there, alright?... Well if that's not good enough for you then you… Look, not now, not now…"

Davenport's voice faded, most likely having gone towards the front of the plane again. He sighed and closed his eyes. Sleep didn't come and worse the headache grew more intense as he did. With it grew the uneasiness. No, it wasn't just uneasiness, but something more. Something almost instinctual. They had told him repeatedly he was safe, and in his head he knew it was true. Yet his gut just wouldn't allow him to rest. Too much at risk, too much which could go wrong...

Maybe he had finally snapped. He opened his eyes again.

"Can't sleep?"

He looked up to find Davenport standing over him, leaned over the back of the seat. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "What was your first guess?"

"Your eyes are open."

"Whatever." He curled further in the chair, away from Davenport. "Much good it does me, anyway."

"Bad dreams?"

He let out a new string of curses. He hadn't realized how loudly he had said that last part.

A frown crosses Davenport's features as he moved away from the chair. He took time to check on both Bree and Adam before settling into an empty seat with a sigh. The older man looked his way again. He shuffled under the gaze. _This is your father,_ he reminded himself. _He's worried for you. He's your father…_He waited, yet there was no click within his mind, no piece falling into place. There was only numbness and the underlining frustration he had been feeling since waking in the river.

"How you feeling?"

He shrugged. The truth was he felt better, headache aside. It was amazing what the little bit of first aid he had received and food had done.

"Don't worry. We're about an hour out, maybe less. Doctor Speight will meet us there."

Judy Speight, his mind offered. She had been treating them for years now and was one of only a handful of doctors Davenport did trust to treat them, although the reason escaped him. Something to do with the lab… with why they went on missions…

"Is that who you were talking to on the phone?"

"No, that was another associate of mine."

"About the mission?"

Davenport nodded. "The drone was carrying some very vital parts for technology I've been working on. But the cargo was lost."

"Krane?" Where had that name come from? Like everything else it had just popped into his head.

"Don't know."

"They were the ones to ambush us, weren't they?"

"Would seem like it." Davenport let out a sigh. "We'll get it back."

"It's important, isn't it?"

Donald was quiet a moment. "Yes, it is. But I'm more concerned at the moment with you."

He scoffed. "I'm fine."

He chose to ignore the look Davenport cast his way even as he would rather have slapped it off his face.

"What were your dreams about?"

"Why do you care?"

"Maybe they can help."

"They're just dreams." Dreams which had involved all of the three people he had thus far encountered. He rubbed his face, his mind playing back what he had seen. He saw the gun, the orange box, the young man lying in the rubble…

"Where's the other member of the team?"

Davenport blinked. "Who?"

"The other one at the crash site. The one with light hair."

He didn't like the look Davenport was giving him in that moment. "Chase, there's no one else on the team. Just you, Adam and Bree."

They stared at each other in silence. He felt the anger rising again, the frustration, yet in Davenport's eyes he only found sincerity. The man was telling the truth. It brought no comfort; rather, he felt it all slipping from him. If what Davenport was telling him was true, then what? Now his dreams were lies? His mind was betraying him?

He climbed from the chair and walked towards the cockpit, stopping at the small hallway just out of view from the main area. His hand formed into a fist and he banged it against the window a few times. He heard a yelp yet didn't stop, not until Davenport had grabbed hold of his arm and pulled it away mid-swing.

"What was- stop! Chase-"

"Don't call me that!"

Davenport paused. "What?"

He looked to his now-throbbing hand. What had he meant? How could he explain? Where to begin? "Chase Davenport, Chase Davenport... You know that means nothing to me, right? I'm not him. That name means nothing to me. It's wrong. I don't know who Chase Davenport is. I can't tell you anything about him. He's a complete stranger and- what!"

Davenport blinked. "Nothing."

His insides began to boil. There was something about the way Davenport had been looking at him in that moment. It had been a strange look, like someone realizing something unpleasant. "Go to-"

"I'd rather not, thanks." A stern look crossed Davenport's face. "And watch your language."

He looked back at his hand. The throbbing had intensified and was already swelling in size. Great; add that to the laundry list of injuries. "How did I get myself into this mess?"

"You tell me."

"I can't! Do you have any idea what it's like not knowing who you are? I hate this!"

"Then why aren't you trying to remember?"

Was Davenport playing with him? He felt the near irresistible urge to punch the man. "What do you think I've been doing these last few days?"

"Feeling sorry for yourself it seems like."

"You calling me a liar?"

"No," Davenport answered gently. Again he saw the flash of something, yet it faded again.

"Then what do you want from me?"

"I want to help you." Davenport sighed and rubbed his hands through his hair. "Chase, what were your dreams about?"

His hands balled into fists again yet this time he turned away.

"The whole series of my life appeared to me as a dream; I sometimes doubted if indeed it were all true," He looked to see Davenport not looking towards him but to the window. His voice was low as he continued, as if reciting from memory. "for it never presented itself to my mind with the force of reality."

The words seemed strangely familiar.

"Mary Shelley," he said. "Frankenstein."

Davenport nodded. "Was always one of my favorites. Well until Douglas brought back Herman... actually that explains so much…" he shook his head. "Chase, I can't make you believe me. I can't make you trust me. But I promise I'll do everything I can to help you."

He snorted.

Davenport sighed, more burdened than frustrated. "I'll get some ice for that. You go take a seat again."

Wordlessly he followed the direction. He heard Davenport shuffle towards the cockpit but paid him no real mind. Sinking into sink his mind began to swirl again; he felt the headache intensifying. Closing his eyes he sighed and tried to relax without thinking.

It was no use. All he saw was the plane, the motionless person, the gun. Red. Rubbing his face he stood. Adam and Bree were still asleep. He fumbled his way out of the seat and looked around. Surely a plane, even one small like this, had some form of bathroom in it. He stumbled his way around and eventually found it towards the front.

It felt strange, wrong almost, to be stepping toward a mirror with no real clue as to what he would find. He stepped before the glass and almost immediately recoiled. That face, the one looking back towards him, giving him the same wide-eyed look he was giving to it. Impossible, yet he stared again at the green eyes and pale skin, bruised and bloodied.

He was staring at the face of the young man from his dream.

"What the-" he backed away from the mirror, his eyes not leaving the glass. The reflection stared back as he did, eyes wide and panicked. "What the-"

"Chase, what-"

He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. He could only react. In one swift motion he turned and grabbed the older man's shirt, pulling him into the small space of the bathroom and against the mirror. Davenport could only manage a small noise of protest. Instinctually his arm went for the man's throat, running across it. Pressing, if only slightly. "Who are you?" he demanded. Davenport looked surprised to say the least. "What do you want from me?"

"Chase, what-"

"I said-" he pressed the man's back into the mirror. It rattled from the force. "What do you want from me!"

"I told you, I'm here to help-"

"Don't lie to me!" The anger was rising again. This time he let it, felt his vision blurring into red. Just like his dream. It was guiding him, leading him in the moment. He wanted answers. He needed answers. "No more games! Tell me the truth!"

"Chase-"

"Who is that?" With one hand still across the man's throat he pointed towards the mirror. How stupid he had been to come here on the plane, where he couldn't escape. His thoughts began to swirl again.

"I don't understand your question."

"Do you think I'm playing with you?" His tone was even yet there was no mistaking his seriousness by the graveness within his voice. Davenport's eyes widened. Good. He wanted the man scared, wanted him to be powerless, wanted all control in that moment. "I will ring your neck. I'll rip out your spine and use it to-"

"No, no, I don't think that at all."

"Who is that!" Davenport raised his arms, trying to push him away yet he was there, each time slapping them down. He inched closer, closing in and pinning Davenport into the wall. He held the power. It felt good. Natural. Right. "Answer me, you little-"

A figure appeared in the mirror; Adam most likely. He kept his eyes on Davenport, grapping the man's shirt and pushing him against the wall. From behind someone made a noise yet Davenport shook his head. He pushed the man's back against the wall again. From the corner of his eye he saw Davenport raise an arm, motioning. Stay back, he was telling whoever had entered.

"That's you, Chase. That's your reflection."

It was the answer he was expecting and yet it felt wrong. So very mixed up. He didn't know why though. His mind swirled again and the purely unadulterated anger growing. He was so angry... so very angry...

"You-"

A hand gripped his shoulder. He spun around again, grabbing hold and forcing Adam away and into the far wall. Even having more than a few inches on him, strangely Adam was no match and went down fairly easily. That threat gone he returned his attention back to Davenport. The man hadn't even gotten the chance to get off the floor. He grabbed hold and pulled Davenport to his feet, shoving him back into the broken mirror.

This time however he found no fear on the man's face. The fear slowly melted as realization crossed his face. It was the look from before, only much more pronounced this time. Davenport tilted his head.

"What!"

"You're not Chase," he whispered. Shock and something else was in his voice. Ramblings; it had to be. The man was making no sense. Yet he said it again, stronger this time. "You're not-"

"What are you babbling about!" he demanded, giving Davenport another quick shake.

Davenport only stared. He pushed himself slightly off the wall. "You're not Chase," he said again, louder this time. He blinked, a knowing look crossing his face. "You're Spike."


End file.
